“Hey man, how come, how come? Ya know, my man,
like why did God give us two nostrils, then
clog them with hair to choke off our breathing?”
“George, we’re here to fish,” I remind him.
“Man, Jesus fed the multitudes with fish
but the Bible doesn’t say how many
that is, man. In a one-bedroom cabin
you, your old lady and sno-tnose rugrats
that would be a multitude for sure, man,
but move that group into Carnegie Hall
and is that still defined multitude?
You see, man, language is the minefield
Of most glorious misdirection
God created to fuck with the egos
Of politicians, network censors
And television evangelists
Bent on getting rich by claiming standards
They made up for all we sheep to follow
All of us except them, those dudes have rules
Of their own, like buying expensive stuff
Or sleazy male Las Vegan prostitutes
And doing lots of things they tell you and me
We cannot do, man, or its hell or jail
And our souls damned for eternity.”
“George, are we going to fish or are we not?”
“Man do you know the five words you can’t say
on television or they’ll castrate
your main means of livelihood forever?”
“Get in the truck, George, your shit overwhelms
the trout and shatters the quietetude.”